


Painkiller

by supremeleadershitlord



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crossroads Deals & Demons, Eventual Smut, F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21731029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supremeleadershitlord/pseuds/supremeleadershitlord
Summary: Crowley is in a small town after a nearby crossroads deal and visits the local bar where he meets a bartender that catches his attention immediately. He comes back every night to see her until she mysteriously stops showing up for work.
Relationships: Crowley (Supernatural) & Original Female Character(s), Crowley (Supernatural)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 13





	Painkiller

**Author's Note:**

> Santana was created by me and Em belongs to Thotful-writing  
> And for reference, Santana’s faceclaim is Rosario Dawson and Em’s faceclaim is Rachel Weisz.  
> More tags will be added as the story unfolds.

Thursday nights at the Crossroads Tavern were always busy. The workers in the small industrial town of Taluca were nearing the end of their work week and needed to blow off some steam before they had to deal with one more day of backbreaking labor. There was also never a shortage of people passing through on their way to the nearest big city, about an hour away. A strategically placed bar sign near the crossroads at the edge of town seemed to draw customers in. Mainly due to the local legend attached to it. Supposedly the richest man in the town’s history got his fortune overnight by selling his soul.

Santana filled a pitcher of beer for a group of college guys in the back booth while Em carried a tray full of cocktails to the table of older women known as the town’s gossip queens. They weren’t particularly fond of anyone but they openly disliked Santana and Em because they had dated a few of their sons and daughters at different times back in high school.

“Why do these bitches insist on coming here for their cocktail shit talking hour every goddamn week?” Santana asked when Em joined her behind the bar.

“Because they live to torture us with no tips and rude glares,” Em raised her voice on the last two words when she noticed the women looking in their direction.

“I love that Maureen thinks we’re responsible for her daughter getting pregnant senior year,” Santana laughed and grabbed a bottle of water from beside the register.

“I mean, we did give Kacy the best orgasm of her life at that back to school party. Maybe we’re just that good,” Em smirked and draped her arm around Santana.

“Our metaphorical dicks are just too powerful.” Santana kissed Em’s cheek and glanced around the bar to make sure everyone was taken care of.

The bells on the door sounded and a man in a long black coat with a black suit underneath walked in.

"Em, why does this feel like that moment from True Blood when Sex and Candy played in the bar?" Santana asked as she watched the man approach them. He hadn't even spoken and already she could tell he had a different vibe about him than anyone else in the bar.

"Because _that_ just walked in. Goddamn," Em said, not bothering to hide her attraction to him.

He sat down on the barstool in front of them and put his hands together on the old wooden top of the bar.

"Whiskey straight and keep them coming, love,” he said in a deep, gravelly british accent.

“Coming right up.” Santana pulled two clean glasses out while Em headed towards the tables to check on her customers.

“One of those days, huh?” Santana glanced at him as she poured the amber liquid in the first glass.

“I have a thankless job,” he replied with a long sigh. Santana passed the first glass to him and started to fill the other.

“The worst kind,” she commented before sliding the second glass across the bar and glancing passed him to the table of rude women.

“Maureen, I swear to God if you put another goddamn glass from this bar in your purse, I will eat your soul and shit it out,” she snapped. The usual customers didn’t even bother to look up, they were used to Santana and Em going off on the women. The new customers, on the other hand, looked slightly terrified. The mysterious man at the bar let out a deep laugh before he finished his first glass of whiskey.

“Yell at your customers often?”

“When the bitches deserve it, yes, and those four always do,” Santana replied, resting her forearms on the bar across from him.

“And eating their souls, is that something you do often because I may have a job opening.” He raised his second glass to her and took a sip.

“Only on days that end in Y.” Santana grinned and reached under the bar to grab another glass and fill it with whiskey.

“I like you,” Crowley said with a half smile before he finished off his second drink. Santana had his next one in front of him just as he sat the empty glass on the bar.

“I’m Santana.” She returned his smile and gathered the empty glasses in front of him. Her long black hair fell over her exposed shoulders as she bent down behind the bar to load the glasses onto a dish rack.

“You expect me to believe you’re a saint?” Crowley asked when she popped back up, referring to the meaning behind her name.

“I _am_ a saint. Emersyn is the sinner.” She nodded towards the other bartender shamelessly flirting with a group in the back corner.

He glanced back and watched Em for a moment, amused by the way she could so easily command her customer’s attention.

“And what about you?” Santana asked, pulling his attention back to her.

“I’m Crowley… or daddy, whichever you prefer," he said in that deep rasp Santana wanted to hear a lot more of before the night came to an end.

She rested her forearms on the bar and leaned towards him with a mischievous smile.

“And what are you? Sinner or saint?”

“100% sinner, darling. Would you like me to corrupt you?”

Before Santana could reply, someone waved her down for another pitcher of beer at their table. She sighed, her big brown eyes meeting Crowley’s for a brief moment before she grabbed a clean pitcher.

“Has that line ever actually worked?” She didn’t bother waiting for his answer and headed for the table with a full pitcher in hand and a grin on her face.


End file.
